


Play Dead

by ChainedYetAdrift



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainedYetAdrift/pseuds/ChainedYetAdrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*REVAMPED* When all else fails, sometimes the best thing you can do is simply play dead.</p><p>A/N: This was a request from another incredible writer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play Dead

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my twisted imagination.

A/N: This fic is not meant to offend anyone or cause some outrageous revolt. It is simply the product of too much time on my hands and too much imagination to help it thrive.

Pairing: Lana Winters/Oliver Thredson. Don’t like, don’t read, it’s as simple as that. Contains mature scenes and sexual situations, but you should expect that anyway since after all, this is American Horror Story, right? 

UPDATE 2017: I am in the process of revamping my fiction, as I would like to complete my unfinished works. I've received so many messages from you lovely readers and I can't tell you how much I appreciate them and how they have brightened my days. 

 

 

American Horror Story: Asylum

 

Play Dead

 

 

Home.

It had only been about two hours since he left it, but the good doctor had a few issues to address back at his tiny cell turned office in Briarcliff after disappearing abruptly to drop off precious cargo. Cargo he had been attempting to get a hold once again for at least a month. Thus, home was calling to him like never before.

After wheeling the car into the driveway, he was quick to slide his key into the deadbolt, jiggling it noisily to alert his arrival like an unspoken notification to a secret lover waiting patiently in the shadows inside for his arrival. Today has been just as stressful as the first time he pulled something like this off. Locking the deadbolt behind him, he dropped everything to the floor with a sigh of relief and casually moved to the liquor bar in the living room.

Retrieving a low-ball glass from the shelf, a heaping helping of gin and tonic is poured. Wasting no time in downing it, the burning the back of his throat is ignored at the high-pitched scrape of wood against the linoleum. Swallowing calmly, dark eyes drift to the kitchen door. Rather than rush to investigate, he tops off another glass before the cap is screwed into place. Releasing a deep grunt of satisfaction, a tiny smile then split the good doctor’s lips as he casually made his way into the kitchen, drink in hand.

Thredson looked on, his curiosity piqued despite visible detachment, approaching the island countertop while the thick fingers of his free hand tugged at the knot of his burgundy necktie to loosen it. A small dark smile spread over his lips. He circled the counter slowly while looking observing his cargo. He was sure if his cargo could talk back she would have a rather snide remark for him—something nasty that only the vocabulary a vulture could produce.  

‘But not tonight,’ he thought wryly.

Oh, no. Instead, her eyes do _all_ the talking. He came around slowly and stopped directly in front, eyeing a very bound and restrained Lana Winters. She is stark naked, on her belly, knees bent so her ankles and elbows meet and gently, Oliver plucked the soft silk neckties he used from his closet to tie those straining joints together. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his gaze traveled down the smooth and pale expanse of her stark-naked backside, soaking up the gentle sway of every feminine curve. Their eyes met and he heard a muffled sound of aggravation from behind the leather belt he fashioned as her gag, now buckled comfortably behind her head.

"Good evening to you too, Lana," he greeted in a calm voice, offering her a small seemingly harmless smile as he peered into those deep brown eyes. "I'd offer you a drink but you have a distasteful _knack_ for turning what should be harmless objects into weapons of choice. So you’ll just have to forgive the fact that I'm not quite comfortable with the idea of you and one of my glass’ sharing company together just yet."

Lana's eyes narrowed in response. When she awoke an hour ago, she was groggy, out of sorts, and couldn’t remember what had happened. The last thing she could remember was finishing her shift in the asylum’s kitchen, rolling little balls of dough in preparation for tomorrow. The room was empty, the reporter last to finish. After putting the tray of dough into the fridge, everything went black.

Straining to see beyond the glint of his eyeglasses, to reach the monster lurking underneath, panic washed over her anew to see him smiling. She began pulling in vain against her bonds, holding her in position in distress when she saw Oliver’s hand extend towards her cheek. When she jerked her head to the side to avoid his touch, he paused, slightly dejected that she was so uncooperative in spite of her situation. Disappointed, he let his arm drop to his side.

"You're not gonna find your way out of those with an attitude like that," she heard him say, unnerved, as usual, by his dry and distant monotone as he took off his dark gray suit jacket and hung it on the back of the chair.

He moved around the small counter and out of her sight once more. She could feel the softness of his white dress shirt brush against her skin, the tug of each individual the necktie to ensure they were tight.

"The harder you pull, the tighter they become. You know, that's one of the things I've always admired about silk,” he continued as if discussing the weather, rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down. “It's so smooth it’s almost a fault—snagging and catching so easily, I mean."

Reaching out, his fingers trailed down the stretched fabric just above her lower back. That same hand dipped underneath her bound hands and ankles and ran cool fingertips down her spine, letting them swirl over her skin until he reached the curve of her bottom and laid a hand on her exposed rump. A muffled sound of complaint escaped her, her wrists and feet twitching erratically for freedom. This is how he liked her: controlled, powerless, and soon…broken. Her rump is warm beneath his fingers and he smoothed his palm over it, squeezing gently to test the firmness and fullness of it. She has already begun to squirm, issuing another muffled sound, this time delightfully filled with pleading desperation. Oliver smiled to himself.

"You have no idea how— _long_ I've waited to have you like this," he confessed, appeased to have her within his grasp once more.

Taking a sip from his drink, Oliver then set it down on the countertop next to her thigh, carefully as if it were something precious with a quiet clink. The tenseness of her muscles seemed to slowly mitigate beneath the good doctor’s exploring fingers the longer he caressed them and the moment she seemed to adjust to his touch, he gave her right cheek a curt swat.

Lana let out a startled yelp of complaint, immediately craning her head to glare back at him from over her shoulder. Shame, he hasn’t realized her muted expressions of disapproval can and will continue to go ignored.

"Lana...do you have any idea the risks I took getting you out of that god forsaken hellhole,” he asked, returning to massage her reddening flesh. Another firm spank is bestowed, this time harder than the last to leave the skin raised with his handprint and her writhing.

“The possibility of getting caught?” His voice escalates just so, anger breaking their surly bonds of the mask of decency he sports for the public. “My license revoked?”

Her lithe form jerks with each spank to accompany the urgency and demand of questions she is unable to answer. For Lana, he can rot in hell if he thinks she needs to justify her behavior against his madness.

Whimpering behind her gag, hot tears spill over matted lashes as Thredson’s physical and verbal assault continued. There is no pause, no relief between blows as there was when this shocking debauchery first began. Long ago had the hits begun to sting and as she felt that heavy hand tan her ass pink again and again, seemingly swollen, his strikes remain quick and meticulous and unexpected in their target point of impact.

“No—of course, you wouldn't understand,” he huffed out. “As long as Ms. Winters gets her story…" he trailed off, almost distracted yet the bitterness in his tone is blatant.

Bucking, writhing, and whimpering, vulnerable skin commences to burn. Worst of all is the horrific realization that the very same heat is spreading to the warm passage between her thighs. As though her pleas and silent prayers were answered, the silk necktie binding her ankles is cut free, leaving her hands bound. She wasted no time in stretching unused muscles calf muscles, relieving the ache. Even though spiteful, Lana is silently thankful for the momentary reprieve from the wallop of his hand.

"Fact is, I’ve always thought were too spirited. The way I see it, Briarcliff gave you too much freedom. Ironic, to say the least, seeing as the facility is the exact opposite…but you can thank Sister Mary Eunice for her aid in getting you back in line. After all, I couldn’t have done it if she weren’t so adept at untying slip knots," he told her, meeting her wide wet eyes. "What little security that sanitarium offered won’t save you anymore."

Tenderness notably unwelcome, Oliver’s palm doused the flame of her burning backside, gently massaging the skin and spreading the heat accumulating there like he was coaxing out a slow roast from beneath her skin. Unable to resist the sigh that escaped her lips at the offering of relief, the moment is short-lived when, with a renewed fervor, he returned to smacking her pink cheeks again. Muffled cries of what sounded like his name spilled from behind her gag, kicking atop the rectangular countertop. Begging him to stop is never an option, she reasons inwardly. You can’t reason with madness.

Each wallop earned him a winded, defeated cry followed by a pathetic whimper when a soothing caress is offered. Sure it stings but he knew those tears weren’t exactly from the pain. They exist because of the exposure, the helplessness, the destruction of her pride and dignity, and most importantly, a level of vulnerability that he longed prey upon like a wolf among sheep in an open pasture.

But when his hand unexpectedly stopped, her wide eyes darted around the open empty kitchen expanse in front of her, listening to the sound of her pounding heart for what horrors awaited her next.

"Shhh..." Oliver hushed quietly, waiting for the soft whimpers to quiet down and the vengeful expression in both their eyes to dissipate as his hand massaged the hot sensitive skin. He snatched up his drink with his free hand and took another gulp. Despite herself, Lana’s hips moved like slithering of a snake against that large palm, needy for the alleviation it offered until that wandering hand dipped into the narrow space between her thighs.

On instinct, her legs snapped shut around his hand, trapping it in place. Oliver brows furrowed, confused and insulted by the denial. Still, he is careful not to let his disappointment reach his eyes. After all, it is amusing that she assumes she holds any leverage. With renewed force, Lana wiggled and twisted with renewed force until she slipped off of the small island counter, smacking painfully with the unforgiving linoleum. Scrambling, she managed to prop herself up against the island counter, breathlessly squaring off with her captor in silence. Drawing her knees to her chest in an attempt to cover herself, several muffled words left her lips as she peered up at his towering figure. Oliver’s gaze immediately dropped to her trembling naked body sitting so close to his black Oxfords. Setting the lowball glass aside, he grabbed a wooden chair from the kitchen table behind them, spun it around, and after placing it in front of her, he casually took a seat. If given the chance, she might be tempted to spit in his face but there’s only way to find out. A hand darts out, pulling the belt from behind her head and tossing it the floor, only to immediately clamp that same palm over her mouth.

"Lana, _Lana_ …” he sighed exasperatedly as if fatigued by a conversation that had yet to begin. “I'd be _very_ —careful of your next choice of words." Shoving her face back roughly, he leaned forward, arms folded to rest atop the chair’s back to steeple his chin, watching her with an almost child-like curiosity.

For a long moment, Lana was silent. She didn’t come this far just to end up on that cold steel autopsy table in his basement. Staring into her tear stained face, eyes cold and intent, the good doctor smiled at her trembling bottom lip. It was a small, a mock expression of happiness but strangely innocent. Hopeful even. As his dark eyes slowly begin to wander, his head tilting in inspection, Lana swallowed thickly.

"Oh stop it, Oliver,” she challenged finally, her still bound hands twisting behind her back in an attempt at escape. “I know you wouldn't hurt me so long as I still have that confession. I've dealt with you long enough to know how your mind works. "

"Do you?"

He stood up quickly from his chair, unfazed by the backward jerk she made and grasped her beneath the arms. Hoisting up from the floor with a soft grunt, her bare bottom is deposited back into place atop the island countertop. Leaning in, his face mere inches from her, Lana’s gaze remained unwavering. That is until he removed the loosely dangling necktie from his own neck and slipped it over her eyes, knotting it neatly behind her head.

"If I recall—you told me you always wanted to know what it’s like inside the mind of a killer. Do you know what I’m thinking now, Lana? Hm?" The tip of his finger delicately traced a path down her sternum, right between her bare breasts. The sight of them makes his mouth salivate, his brain flooding with memories of taking one of those tight caps between his lips. The longing in it, the gnawing ache for _her_ …

It disgusts him; drives him deeper into insanity. To dark places most fear to tread. Perhaps that is why he feels this way. You see, Lana was never afraid.

"Please...” Lana pleaded warily, fighting back tears when that finger withdrew before reaching the small triangle at the apex of her thighs. Instead, he began to take off his tie and panic officially settled it when he tied it over her eyes.

“Oliver, don't!" Her hands tugged at the ties around her wrists again, stopping only when heavy palms slid up her naked thighs, up to the pointed hipbones, and around to caress her still very tender bottom. She couldn’t see him but she could smell the faint, sweet scent of alcohol on his breath, warm puffs rushing over her naked chest that told her he was unnervingly close. Lana turned her head away, ashamed rich with denial that just the gentlest touch to her tender bottom sent waves of heat pulsing between her thighs. He gripped her chin, thumb stroking that full lower. She’s stronger than this, he reasons to himself. Turning her head toward him, the reporter curled into herself in a pathetic attempt to hide her nakedness.  

“You’re a monster,” she whispered.

"Yet it was _you_ —that came looking for me. That’s the only reason you found yourself in this situation. You couldn’t help yourself, Lana. It’s too fascinating, isn’t it?”

She bit her bottom lip, drawing it in an attempt to conceal it from his touch.

“I imagine that even now, you couldn’t help yourself at the chance to add to your story,” he added in a low, quiet voice. Grabbing the abandoned portion of his necktie that he cut off her earlier from the corner of the countertop, Lana is silent. The tear slipping down her cheek from beneath the fabric covering her eyes tells all. _Surprise, surprise._

Carefully, the length of the fabric in dragged across her thighs and he is careful to not miss a moment as her milky skin dots with the tiniest goose bumps.

She shivered, the touch foreign. No doubt her eyes are darting wildly behind her makeshift blindfold, forced to rely on her sense of hearing alone. It passed up her belly, the soft curve of her breasts, blooming goose bumps in its wake. At last, the silk cloth is dragged across her small pink nipples, watching them pebble before his eyes.

“Since you’re always sleuthing for something, do you know how quickly our normal behaviors are altered when the body is in an unnatural state of being, such as the one you’re in now? Sightless, restrained, vulnerable…to name a few," he questioned passively, studying her reactions. “With the loss of one of your senses, your conscious is battling your subconscious, causing the neurotransmitters in the skin to go crazy from something so simple—as the touch of fabric. Especially silk."

Before she could respond, he grabbed her by the neck and forced her to lie back on the countertop. The second his hand is removed, fear clawed at the back of her throat, swallowing as if trying to force down glass. With nothing but the sound of his voice to guide her, she startled when a thumb brushed over a nipple. Other fingers, uncertain which, danced up the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Once he reached the little mound between her legs, he is delighted to see very little hair there. Just like last time. The backs of his fingers skirt over the skin until her thighs snap shut again.

"Don't..." she spoke up.

"Don't what?"

“….”

"That's what I thought," he observed. After all, she knows he doesn’t like being told what to do.

She stiffened when he gripped her knees and spread apart her thighs to either side of the counter, curious fingers dipping lower to stroke the bright pink flesh between and he smiled to find her somewhat moist. Lana listened closely to the sound of ice tinkling softly inside that glass.

Lana’s bound hands behind her back forced her to arch awkwardly, uncomfortably. To Oliver, it’s an advantage, allowing him a detailed and intimate view of her nether regions. Whimpering, Lana instinctively lifts her head to look down between her legs, momentarily forgetting she is blinded. He dipped his middle and index fingers into the alcohol. Cocking a single thick brow, Oliver trailed those dripping fingers over the tiny bundle of nerves that peeked out at him amongst her folds. Repeating the action again, he let cold liquid droplets spills over her heated lower lips, being very particular of where it dribbled as if he was sprinkling confection on top of a delicious cupcake.

His hands are surprisingly smooth and warm, gliding up her inner thighs to grip her hips. Her mouth dropped open upon contact in shock and disgust as the heat of his mouth encased that unsuspecting little bud. Lana's hips jerked, her head tilting backward as he sucked the gin and tonic from her skin. His mouth tugged at her folds with an alcoholic’s effort not to lose a drop. When her thighs snapped shut around his head in an attempt to force him from between them, his hands gripped and pushed them up to either side of her torso. Her bottom continues to sting, burning against the cold countertop like flesh exposed to dry ice. Oliver rolled that slippery bud around with his tongue, more so out of curiosity and to see what other fevered responses he could pull from her. Sexuality aside, the body is a machine that will respond when the right buttons are touched. Carefully, a thick middle finger dipped into the opening just below his lips, stroking and massaging her walls until she clenched shamefully around his invasive finger.

Lana let out a quiet hiss behind her clenched teeth, desperate to hold onto her resistance. When Oliver pulled his finger back, satisfaction spreads inside his chest like fire to see it coated with a shining wetness all the way up to the knuckle. He lifted his head to observe, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. But it isn’t enough. Using that same fingertip, he traced slippery figure eights into that bundle of nerves. It was just so soft and warm, pink and _alive,_ beneath the pad of his fingers, even more than the rest of her. The more he teased it, the more she would squirm despite herself in an attempt to escape his nimble fingers.

“ _Oliver_ ,” she gasped, her back arching as he slid that aggravating finger back into that aching passage it is now making its home. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, rushed into the space between her hips. “No matter what you do to me, I’m never going to willing tell you where that tape is.”

“Oh come now, Lana. I thought you knew me better than anyone,” he asked. He didn’t bother to lift his head, warm breath ghosting over her wet skin. “What makes you think I don’t already know that?”

Noting the way she contracted around his questing digit each time he stroked a particularly sensitive area like a discreet little hug, a dark smile flashed over his face. Subconsciously, his hips pressed against the countertop in pursuit of friction, frustrated by the tent at the front of his slacks.

A sob left her, realizing that this ordeal wasn’t made with the intent of obtaining the tape. Her struggling returned, legs kicking wildly. This can’t be happening. Her barefoot managed to land against his collarbone and with all of her might, she sent him backward, smashing against the kitchen table behind them with a loud clatter. Surprised by her sudden strength, Oliver collapsed to the tile floor, a lightning bolt of pain rippling up his back.

Heat rushed to his face, heavy brows knitting together. Rising up, he rushed her, grabbing Lana roughly by her biceps and dragging her off the counter top. Lana sagged to the floor, a wail issuing from her throat as her feet kicked in frustration.

“Oliver!” He hoisted her up on his kitchen table, shoving everything off it with the sweep of his arm. There, he grabbed her by the neck and forced her down flat with a smack.

“SHUT—your dirty mouth,” he growled, the sound almost desperate in urgency as he forced himself between her thighs and hastily unbuttoned his slacks with his free hand. “There _was_ something between us Lana—before you left me. I knew it the moment you offered some semblance of motherly affection to me.”

“It was either that—” she huffed, “…or you’d peel the skin from my bones. You’re still as delusional as ever if you think that this will change anything. There was never _anything_ between us. There never will be and you’ll sooner see me dead before I ever allow that to happen.”

Leaning over her, his hand tightens securely around her throat. “You’ve lied to me before, why would is this any different?”

When she didn’t respond, he was all too eager to take it as a positive sign and quickly, he shoved the elastic of his white briefs down his hips, pulling his hardened length free of the tight cloth that kept it imprisoned. With a quick wrench of his hips, he was inside her in one swift thrust and felt like dying. Lana let out a strained cry, her back instinctively arching in an attempt to receive him as painlessly as possible.

Oliver’s mouth dropped open, his hips driving into her once—twice. Engulfed in the same heat previously wrapped around his finger, dark eyes rolled into the back of his head and a heavy sigh tumbled off gin-soaked lips. In seconds, he had found his rhythm, the hot pressure around his length imprisoning his mind, making him its slave. He peered down at the reporter, hips bucking. It’s been so long since he last felt the warmth and tenderness of her slippery insides that he leaned down and pressed his face against her exposed chest.

The table they were atop jerked with his thrusts, groaning beneath their combined weight. She felt the hand at her neck slide up to grasp her jawbone. He filled the space between her legs so completely, delving into her core and stretching her almost painfully but with each harsh thrust of his slender hips, that pain twisted into an unwanted pleasure. Not wanting to waste the opportunity he’d stolen, Oliver is sure she would remember this moment. Silent tears slid from the corners of her eyes, seeping into the fabric of his necktie still tied around her head. Friction built, meshing with an unmistakable wet heat that coursed between her hips. Robbing her of unearned bliss, blood rushed quickly from his brain to his lower regions, threatening to leave him light-headed and dizzy as he drove into her. Since their first time together, lingering thoughts of her while he is idle and alone with his thoughts have often left him aching and impossibly hard. Never has he felt this way before…for anyone.

Somewhere in his delirium, his mouth found a hardened nipple and he worried it with his teeth just before enveloping it between his lips. For Lana, it seemed as if he were everywhere. She cried out from the combined sensation of that wet slick muscle dragging over her nipple and the feel of his driving length angled just enough to hit the betraying spot deep within her core.

Unlatching his lips from her breasts, Oliver leaned up and gripped her hips, pulling her rump to the edge of the table. The new angle allowed him to drive deep, the sound of soft whimpers trapped between his ears to urge him on. God, she was just so wet and the way she squeezed his length in a pulsing rhythm drove him mad. He shoved the tails of his dress shirt up his belly to see with his own eyes where they were joined and as suspected, the lewd sight is nearly enough to push him over the edge. His forearms slipped beneath her knees, lifting them to give him better leverage.

Somewhere amidst the fevered rutting like animals, Oliver felt her walls clamp around him so tightly that he wasn’t sure she’d ever let go. A guttural groan left him, victim to his own desires. His half-lidded eyes found her face in an half-hearted attempt to read what was going on in her mind. Teeth grit, her cheeks are tinged pink, flushed all the way down to the tops of her breasts. It wasn’t until her face twisted into mock pain that he felt her fall apart. Immediately, she cried out, binding his length in a strangling grip followed by the fluttering of clenching spasms.

“ _Ah_ , Christ…” he moaned between clenched teeth as his own release bubbled up from the depths of his groin. In seconds, he spilled himself into her convulsing sheath that milked him for all he was worth.

The kitchen fell quiet, the sounds of labored breathing filling the room. After several minutes, Oliver reached forward and slipped the necktie off  her head, careful to make sure it didn’t tangle in her hair. She kept her eyes closed. He didn’t know if it was because she was refusing to look at him or if she was still coming down from her own sexual high. Deciding to settle on the latter, Oliver let his eyes travel lazily over her naked torso. While he softened inside her womb, he pulled her up to a sitting position and she slumped against him, her head on his shoulder, defeated. Untying the reporter’s hands, the ruined necktie is tucked into his breast pocket. The instead she was free, Lana pushed weakly against his chest. The good doctor was still reeling from his own release and let her drift right past, feeling himself slip from the warm confines between her legs as she slid to bare feet.

Obviously, she should be aware that she won’t get far. Besides, he left her tied up in that awkward position for a reason. On stiff, weakened legs, he dazedly observed her wobbly approach to grip the island countertop for leverage until she slumped to her knees. Readjusting and tucking his wet cock back into his underwear and buttoning his slacks, he approached and scooped her naked form from the floor.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” he asked, kicking the door open with his shoe and carrying her out of the kitchen.

“Does it even matter, Oliver? You’ve already made sure I’ll never find a way out of this place...“ her tone bitter, resigned.

Ignoring her question, he continued on as if it was the norm. Although his hold on her is strong, it crossed her mind to thrash about. Slap him, beat him, curse him but what good would it do aside from wasting the energy she’ll need if she ever found a way out of this house. Fatigue and overly stressed, the reporter lay limp in his arms as he made his way down into that wretched horror show of a basement. Descending into the belly of the beast, the dark dankness of it filled her with an intense sense of dread and doom.  

He bounded down the stairs and maneuvered her in his arms to flick the light switch, the fluorescent lighting buzzing softly overhead. on then made his down the steps with her in tow. She frowned, her bottom lip trembling to as he made his way down, finding that it was still exactly as she had left it the day she escaped. He dropped her unceremoniously onto the neatly made bed, her lithe body bouncing slightly, and made quick work of attaching the chain and metal cuff to her ankle. In disgust, she can do nothing as it clamps over the healing scar the cuff left behind. The soothing caress he gave her smooth calf is ignored. Once his hand left her, Lana scrambled to pull the thin cream sheet up to cover her naked body, wincing to feel the warm stickiness of their combined fluids seeping down her thigh. Taking note of the way his perfectly coifed hair fell into his eyes and sweaty brow, she forced her gaze to meet his. He returned her fiery gaze with a small smirk and made his way back to the steps, climbing them as if he were a giddy young boy given a brand new present.

Pausing on the landing, he spun around to find her eyes on him still. “This is the only place where you can be trusted. On the brighter side of things, as long as you’re here, neither of us will ever have to be alone.”

As that heavy hand flicked off the lights, her lips curls in disgust as memories of where his hands had just been on her person filled her thoughts. Curling on her side, the reporter stared across the blackness with nothing but this fresh memory of horror and violation to keep her company.

 

=====End=====

 

A/N: Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
